Light, Yet Dark
by SmallSerpent
Summary: Lucius Malfoy is physically light in every way, but mentally and magically one of the darkest men in England. That's why Severus needs him. Written for the "Light" theme, though it might have gone better with "Dark." It was exactly 1000 words in Word.


The mark was as black against his light skin as it was on his soul. Severous Snape could only bear to look at it if he forced himself to forget who he was.

Which wasn't entirely a bad thing. He was a half-blood in Slytherin without a knut to his name, and he'd lost enough duels to James Potter by the time he was a third year to know that he was fucked if he ever got caught by a group of Aurors. That wasn't appropriate for his current lifestyle. His friends had no interest in that sort of person. They wanted a well-trained and sadistic duelist. They wanted a pure-blood. They wanted him to have cash to burn whenever _they_ felt like going out for a few thousand rounds of fire whiskey. They wanted him to be _darker_.

And that was where Lucius Malfoy came in; Severus' knight in charred black amour. Lucius Malfoy, despite being light skinned, almost impossibly light haired, and a proud owner of the lightest shade of eyes that was genetically possible, was anything but light on the inside. That was why Severus needed him.

Severus had never asked for lessons or money, but barely a month after his initiation into the Death Eaters, Lucius arrived and started handing out both. The latter he gave knowingly, the former Severus took without asking. After all, if Lucius Malfoy couldn't teach Severus how to gain and keep the favor of the Dark Lord and his followers, no one could.

The dueling help came more subtly. Lucius was the sort of sadist that sent all but the most masochistic men running. Severus had _felt _Lucius keep a Cruciatus Curse going for longer than he had ever _seen _the Dark Lord punish one of his servants. Severus sometimes wondered if Lucius studied the Dark Arts not because of tradition or to use them on the Dark Lord's enemies, as he claimed he did, but simply for the pleasure of seeing his consensual victims writhe beneath him and **plead** for _more_, against every survival instinct in their bodies. For every night Severus spent in Lucius' bed, he was paid with the knowledge of five new ways to torture his enemies.

And Severus could endure all of them easily. His years as James Potter's preferred method of target practice were finally paying off. James had not been nearly as inventive a torturer as Lucius, largely because he didn't enjoy it as much, but James had been resilient. Severus had suffered through enough hexes and humiliation throughout his schooldays to be more than adequate at enduring both with little lasting emotional damage.

Lucius had discovered this himself on their first night together. His immediate fascination had quickly changed to an all-consuming obsession. It was at Lucius' hands that Severus gained an entirely new respect and fear for his now beloved _Sectumsempra_ curse. It was from Lucius' ornate wineglasses that Severus had first sipped some of the most painful, intoxicating, and even _lethal _poisons in the world. It was because of Lucius that Severus knew what it felt like to stare death in the face and be paralyzed, not just by fear, but by the knowledge that anything you say or do will only further encourage your attacker.

The flame had since died, and lately embarking on new attempts to break his seemingly unbreakable toy had fallen back to being merely an idle hobby of Lucius', but Severus could recall—almost _fondly_, he realized, and he harshly berated himself for it—a time when Lucius would chain him up in the Malfoy Manor's dungeons four times a week and try everything from a harsh beating with a Cat of Nine Tails to every magical means available to him to make Severus beg for mercy.

Severus never did. Not once. Lucius had made him scream. Lucius had made him cry. Lucius had left him for hours on the edge of such horrible pain that he couldn't take in enough air for more than a few pathetic choking noises. Lucius had done all of that in one night more often than Severus cared to recall. Severus' pride had never allowed him to do anything more than take it.

Severus was almost ashamed of that fact. It made Severus wonder if he shouldn't have been a damn Gryffindor, and that was a possibility that he could not stomach. He was in Slytherin because Slytherin was the best. Nothing else was acceptable. Severus had never come closer to actually fighting back than he had the night that Lucius told him that his **Gryffindor** courage was adorable, but misplaced. Severus Snape was many bad things, but a Light Magic worshiping pansy was not one of them.

But now, Lucius' touches are soft, though it is unlikely that they will remain that way for long. His pale fingers carefully trace the Dark Mark that mars Severus' own light skin more than any scar ever could. It doesn't look so bad on Lucius, though. It suited him in a way that it didn't suit most.

Lucius whispered dangerous vows in Severus' ear. Severus wasn't sure if they were promises that sounded like threats or threats that he was mistaking for promises. He didn't think he cared.

The Dark Mark looked better on Lucius because Lucius wore it differently. For most of the men and women who wore it, the Dark Mark was a symbol of servitude to the Dark Lord. For Severus himself, the Dark Mark was a reminder of the lifetime that he had _already_ spent in service to the Dark Arts. That made them dark, ugly things that stained the flesh rather than enhanced it. Lucius wore the mark like a badge of honor. It told all that he blessed with a sight of it that he'd spent his life devoted to the Darks Arts, and it assured them that he'd finally made it official by joining the ranks of the darkest group of wizards known to man.


End file.
